


A HANDSOME RETURN

by Miri_Thompson



Category: Halcrest Universe, Original Work, Tuke's Wall
Genre: A little M/M if you squint., Fantasy, Gen, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:04:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri_Thompson/pseuds/Miri_Thompson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dustin has a savage stranger to thank for rescuing him from a stupid way to die. Unfortunately, this new benefactor seems to think he owns Dustin now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A HANDSOME RETURN

I choked and sputtered on the icy water that some blasted eejit just poured over my face. “What in hell—”

“Sit up.” The order was abrupt. 

I forced my eyes open. Sweet Jantos, my head ached. And the chill—it felt like someone was trying to ram an icicle into my brain. How much had I drunk last night? Not enough, obviously.

I pushed myself up a little, coming face to face with a stranger. He was crouching at my side with an empty bucket beside him.

Even through my blurred sight, I could tell that this man was from one of the indigenous tribes that dwelled beyond Tuke’s Wall. I gulped. I had seen his like before, but never up close. Sometimes the fur traders of his people were allowed in the city, but I had never rubbed elbows with them.

Well, I had only been on this side of the wall—this savage, uncivilized side—for a few days. I was like to meet plenty of the tribe-folk now. 

He wasn’t a bad looking fellow. Not as handsome as myself, mind, but that wasn’t his fault. 

Still, now that my vision had steadied, I could see that the straight black hair of his people suited him. His flat nose had been broken once or twice, though: this man had seen his share of fisticuffs. And one of his slanted eyes sported a blood spot that stood out starkly against the white of it—but not as if he were drunk or hung over. No, this looked more like a permanent feature. 

I shook my head, wondering what he made of my tawny hair and pale blue eyes. Somehow I didn’t think he was impressed.

I forced myself to hold out my hand. “I’m Dustin.”

The stranger studied me for a moment. I widened my eyes at him and smiled—that always seemed to earn me trust and regard, from men and women alike. People were eejits that way.

At length the stranger took my hand and shook it. “Cheen-kwe.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir. Now perhaps you can explain where I am, exactly—apart from on this hard and now damp wooden floor—and how I got here.”

“You don’t remember what happened in the Silver Barrel last night?”

I squinted, conjuring up memories of my time in that run-down tavern. “A bit. Bloody good whiskey, as I recall.”

“You had more than your share of it.” He spoke perfect Breconian. Not even an accent. 

“I suppose I did. But there was that troublesome fellow—”

“The sell-sword you kept goading. Yes.”

Right. I vaguely remembered a tall, brutish man—from my own people, alas—with a frighteningly large axe. “What happened to him?”

“I bribed him not to butcher you and salt your remains.”

“Oh.” I swallowed. “Ah, thank you. What do—what do I owe you?”

Cheen-kwe looked amused as he stood up. “Your loyalty, industry—and sobriety.”

“I don’t understand.” I cringed as I sat up all the way. My head was throbbing now.

“Close your eyes,” Cheen-kwe ordered.

I stared at him. Who did this savage think he was? Someone who had intervened on my behalf, apparently. Might as well go along with him: I shut my eyes. 

“Can you picture that sell-sword now?”

“Yes.” I furrowed my brow. “Tall, blond, unkempt and built like a battering ram.”

“That’s . . . an adequate description.”

I opened my eyes again. “Why am I picturing him?”

“Because we’re going to rob him.”

 

-oOo-

 

Cheen-kwe refused to divulge anything more for the remainder of the day. Or for the next two days, for that matter. Nor did he let me out of his sight—or near any variety of alcohol.

That was a problem. I couldn’t remember going so long without alcohol anytime in the past four months. 

“I’m sick of tea.” I kicked at a large piece of wood in the fireplace. It resettled itself where it would catch more of the flame.

Cheen-kwe glanced up from his desk, where he was poring over a journal I’d yet to steal a good look at. He kept it on his person at all times. “The milk from this morning hasn’t spoiled yet. It’s cool enough out.”

Yes, it was cool enough. This early spring weather was damp and chilly and a general nuisance. “I hate milk, Cheen-kwe. So don’t waste your coin on it for my sake. Especially goat’s milk.”

“Then drink water.”

“I don’t trust the water from this village’s well. With all the drunken sell-swords relieving themselves Jantos only knows where . . .”

“Then you’ll have to live with a dry throat. Now make yourself useful. Do something with that salted pork. I’m starving.”

I folded my arms over my chest. “You realize that I am not, in fact, your slave.”

He closed the journal, peered up at me, and leaned back in his chair. “Do you think some official from the other side of Tuke’s Wall will come here to free you?”

He had a point. We were beyond the reach of civilization. “No, but—”

“I paid good coin to keep your hide intact.”

“I appreciate that, and I’m more than willing to pay you back—”

“You will pay me back, yes.” His voice was maddeningly calm. “I intend to make a handsome return on this investment.”

“You will, if you’ll let me go perform in the Silver Barrel. My songs always earn good coin—”

“I’m not letting you anywhere near whiskey. I need you sober.”

“For some robbery you won’t even divulge the details of.” I rolled my eyes. “What’s to stop me from walking out your door?”

“The fact that you don’t really have a death wish.”

I looked him over. We were both on the lean, wiry side, but I’d wager he’d had more experience with his hatchet than I had with my dagger. And even if we kept just to fisticuffs, I didn’t like my chances.

“So you would murder me, Cheen-kwe, just for leaving?”

“I wouldn’t have to. You would walk straight to the tavern, drink too much whiskey and pick another unwise fight.”

My jaw dropped. For a long moment we just stared at each other. Then, with an annoyed but impotent grunt, I picked up the blackened kettle and prepared to brew myself some tea.

 

-oOo-

 

I was sober one week to the day. To celebrate, I decided to sit on the floor, in front of the fireplace, and pick at the dulcimer Cheen-kwe had purchased from some trader. It was a simple, quiet instrument that I held flat on my lap. It was nothing like the magnificent harp I’d briefly called my own, but its tinny sound was oddly pleasing. 

I was halfway through a melody of my own composition when Cheen-kwe plunked down beside me, cross-legged. I set the dulcimer aside as he handed me a parchment with some sort of charcoal sketch on it.

I frowned at the drawing. It was one of those elaborate beaded belts his people craft. Supposedly the patterns conveyed ancestral stories and myths.

“That,” he said, “is what we’re stealing back from Anley.”

“Anley is the blond battering ram?”

“Yes.”

“How did he get hold of something like this?”

“He killed my cousin.”

I gaped at him. “I’m so sorry—”

But Cheen-kwe brushed my sympathy aside. “My cousin was fool enough to challenge him to a duel. It was a fair fight. But Anley didn’t have the right to that belt—it wasn’t my cousin’s in the first place. It belongs to our tribe.”

“Ah, can’t you buy it back from him?”

“He won’t sell it.”

“Have you ever thought of dueling him for it yourself?” I gave him a challenging look.

He grinned. “You think you’ll walk free if he defeats me? He’s more likely to claim you as a prize.”

I raised my eyebrows at his choice of words and the curious inflection he gave them. “A prize? Am I his sort, then?”

Cheen-kwe shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to have an eye for women.”

“Ah. Perhaps I’d fare better with him. He might spoil me.”

“I don’t think he’s the sort to spoil anyone. He might sell you further out west, though.”

“Pity. Well, I don’t want you to challenge him anyway. I don’t really want you hurt.”

He looked thoughtful. “I think I can take him. I don’t have his strength, but I’m much faster on my feet.”

“Then why haven’t you fought him?”

“Because he only duels to the death—and his death would be inconvenient.” 

“So would yours.” I was feeling generous toward this supposed master of mine, though I’m not sure why. Perhaps it was this new and intriguing experience of a clear, sober mind and a constant roof over my head. Left to myself, I’d be pickling my liver with whiskey and sleeping out in a field of wild flowers.

Instead, I was making myself at home in this tiny, one level hut of his. There wasn’t much space to speak of and the lone chimney smoked too much. But I had my own cot, food in my stomach, and a pile of books to read—he shared everything but that one journal. And sometimes, when Cheen-kwe was in a sociable mood, decent company.

He broke into my thoughts by pointing at my thumbs . . . and the T’s branded on them. “Are you a better thief sober than you are drunk?”

I stared down at the brands—the pain of those had been bad enough, but being drummed outside the wall had been infinitely worse. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried to work sober.”

“Well, here’s your chance to find out.”

“And if I’m caught?” I gulped. I had already experienced one disastrous failure in this line of work, thank you very much.

But Cheen-kwe just shrugged. “Whether he catches you or not, Anley will know to place the blame on me. But he and I will settle accounts later, once the belt is back in the hands of my elders.”

Settle accounts? Somehow his words didn’t comfort me.

 

-oOo-

 

I stayed awake that night, letting my eyes grow accustomed to the darkness while I waited for Cheen-kwe to fall asleep.

I was nervous. I’ll admit that. He was only just across the room, and he was a light sleeper. But I could be as quiet as a—well, I hoped as quiet as a much better thief than myself, now that there was no whiskey impairing my judgment.

He didn’t wake up as I put on my clothes, or when I opened the door. I glanced at the dulcimer on my way out—but no, this was not a night for singing or playing.

I wasn’t running away. I’d have grabbed the dulcimer if I were. No, I would only be gone for the night, and I intended to remain loyal, industrious and sober.

 

-oOo-

 

The Silver Barrel was even dingier than I remembered. It had served as a barn in some earlier incarnation, and the owner hadn’t put much effort into the conversion. No matter. I wasn’t concerned with the elegance of my surroundings.

A few traders—the sort who were welcome on either side of the wall—sat in a corner, talking shop. A pair of local farmers were playing chess by the fireplace. And a couple of sell-swords stood at the bar. Anley was one of them, and he appeared to be alone. So far, so good.

An idea had wormed its way into my brain back when Cheen-kwe first showed me that charcoal drawing. He had offered the blond battering ram good coin for the belt, no doubt. But coin was only one type of currency. Perhaps I could offer something more enticing.

I walked up to Anley, favoring him with a sheepish look. “Ah, hello.”

He glanced down at me—damn, he was a big fellow. I was average height, but I only made it to his shoulder. 

“What do you want?” His voice was gruff and not particularly inviting.

“I, ah, think I owe you an apology.”

He studied me for a moment. “Drink?”

I shook my head. “No. That’s what got me into trouble last time.” I smiled, widening my eyes at the same time. “Let’s just have a seat, shall we? Just to talk.”

He stared at me for another long moment, but then nodded his head.

 

-oOo-

 

The sun was rising as I strolled back into our hut, nearly slamming into Cheen-kwe on my way in. He did not seem pleased.

I smiled at him regardless as I brushed past him. “Looking for me?”

He closed the door and then turned around. “Have you been at the tavern?”

“Yes, but I didn’t touch a drop of alcohol. I was having an intriguing chat with Anley—oh, he told me to give this to you.” I held out the beaded belt.

Cheen-kwe’s eyes were hard as he accepted it—but there was a hint of concern there too. “What did you give him in exchange?”

“Not what I can forgive you for imagining. My scintillating conversation was enough for him.”

He blinked. “Are you telling the truth?”

Well, I couldn’t blame him for doubting me. “Yes. We talked; nothing more. Everyone in the tavern can verify that—just as they can verify that I drank only tea.”

Judging by his expression, he still needed convincing.

I sighed. “If you must know, Anley buys into this ludicrous notion that you own me. He’s spent too much time on this side of the wall, I wager.”

Cheen-kwe snorted.

“I suspect he’d enjoy more of my company—and I might enjoy more of his. He’s not as brainless as I thought.” I paused, furrowing my brow. “But I don’t think he’s ready to make you an offer for me. If he does, refuse it. At least for now.”

Cheen-kwe raised his eyebrows. “Taking your chances with me?”

“Yes.” I helped myself to the seat at his desk.

“Why?”

“I like being sober. I think you’re my best chance of remaining so.” I paused for dramatic effect. “But I want to know your plans.”

His face was admirably blank. “What plans would those be?”

“I think, Cheen-kwe, that retrieving that belt was only the first step in some master scheme of yours.” I might have been letting my imagination run away with me, but that didn’t stop me from elaborating. “A scheme that has to do with that journal you keep poring over. And a scheme that may even require Anley’s cooperation at some point, which is why his death would be inconvenient.”

He laughed. “Even if that were the case, do you think I’d reveal the whole scheme to you?”

“Not now. But you will soon enough.”

“Very well, Dustin. I’ll bite.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Why?”

“Because you want a handsome return on your investment, remember? The more you confide in me, the more useful I’ll become—and the more situations I'll be able to resolve for you without resorting to thievery and the like.” I paused to smile and widen my eyes at him. “So what do you say?”

He rolled his eyes, but he did smile back. A little. “We’ll see.”

That, as far as I was concerned, was a yes. I winked at him as I leaned forward and folded my hands on his desk. “Excellent. Let’s see that journal.”

 

-The End-


End file.
